


wishful thinking

by iris_ophelia



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:37:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iris_ophelia/pseuds/iris_ophelia
Summary: She heard the door shut.She knew she would not see him again for a while.





	1. July

**_July_ **

Her phone buzzed but she ignored it like she had for the past month. Other than her parents, she had spoken to no one since abandoning Nevada, Buddy and his pathetic excuse of a campaign. (Or was it hers? She still wasn’t sure.) She sat in a coffee shop two blocks from her apartment in DC that she had never discovered in the seven years of living in the neighborhood simply because it was not on the way to work. She never brought her laptop (although she had been debating some remote political consulting just so she did not become completely irrelevant), instead, she worked on reading one of the piles of books that had been sitting in her apartment. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid (although she had immediately chopped it back to its usual length the day she returned to DC), and she wore a soft blue t-shirt and jeans. She probably could have been mistaken for a grad student.

Immersed in the book, she was startled when she felt someone tug on her braid. She looked up to see Dan’s smirking face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked.

“Gosh Ames, I didn’t know you missed me that much.” He slid into the seat across from her as she rolled her eyes. She had carefully avoided him since leaving for Nevada, and other than a few random texts from him (all of which she never replied to), they had not spoken in months.

“I don’t remember inviting you to sit down,” she said with a frown.

“But you were just about to.”

She sighed and looked at him in the eyes, “What do you want Dan?”

“Let’s start with why the fuck you’re sitting in a coffee shop on a Thursday afternoon at 2pm reading a book instead of at work.”

“You look pretty fucking casual yourself. Pot calling the kettle black?” Dan of course looked like he had come from a JCrew catalogue shoot—the perfectly fitted jeans, the blue and white plaid button up shirt, some kind of expensive shoe. God, fuck him (although, she was pleased to see a speckle of grey in his hair and five o’clock shadow on his face).

“It’s my day off. I’m doing an interview tomorrow so I flew in today, I still have my apartment.”

“Whatever. You can go, I’m sure you were on route to fuck someone. Just tell Candi Caruso that she should get tested after.”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed her book, “Ok, get your bag, we’re going.”

She defiantly continued to sit, “And why do you think I’m going anywhere with you?”

“Because I know you’re fucking bored and we’re going to drink and you’re going to make some phone calls and you are going to work tomorrow.”

He tugged on her arm and she begrudgingly stood up. Amy **hated** that he still had this pull on her after she had worked so hard for the past year to forget him because he was an opportunistic asshole and dick who did not care about her. But talking to him for less than five minutes was still better than spending eight months with Buddy in Nevada.

They found a bar about three blocks from the coffee shop. And after three rounds of tequila, he convinced her to call Ben, who was utterly relieved to hear from Amy and told her the DNC needed her to kick the ass out of some idiotic newbie campaign managers. And then they had a round (or two or three) of whiskey. And then Dan was close to her ear whispering something because the happy hour crowd had arrived and she felt her heart skip a beat and simultaneously felt sick to her stomach because she did not know how it was possible to love and hate someone who was so incredibly awful.

They predictably ended up back at her apartment (she knew it was going to happen from the moment he sat down in the coffee shop). He pushed her against the kitchen island and tugged roughly on her braid (which she knew was getting him off) as he whispered dirty words against her lips. She realized they never fucked before dressed in casual clothes and that it was so much easier to rip off a shirt without a tie. He easily slipped off her t-shirt and boring bra, and then unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down. And then he was fucking her against the island, holding her up while her legs were wrapped around him, sucking on her neck (but not so hard as to give her a hickey), and she moaned in annoyance because she did not know how someone so horrible felt nothing but wonderful.

She hated herself so much, but felt the tenseness leave her body during a moment of euphoria. She collapsed into a pile of limbs against him as he stilled, keeping his face buried deep inside her neck. After about five minutes, he separated for a moment. She expected him to do a quick exit, but instead, he said, “Thai or Vietnamese?”

She had no fight left in her. She just wanted a few hours where things felt easy. She said Thai. He threw her discarded t-shirt and panties towards her to put back on as he pulled on his boxers and undershirt. They pretended the past two years did not happen. They ate noodles and stir fry, argued about which Congressman was the stupidest, made fun of CNN, and fucked in between. He did not leave after they fucked for the third time, but instead, threw the leftovers in her fridge and pulled her into the bedroom.

He made her forget for a few hours. And then she fell asleep on his chest (which she would be pissed about in the morning) and he stroked her naked back, because even though he did not like cuddling, he preferred Amy soft against him to no Amy at all.

She woke up expecting him to be gone, but instead found him in the kitchen sitting at the island, dressed and reading the New York Times with her latte next to his Americano. There was an almond croissant in a pastry bag. She wanted to kiss his cheek for some reason, but did not. They sat in a comfortable silence reading the paper. His phone buzzed. He said he needed to leave to get ready for the interview.

She nodded. He kissed her, softly but fiercely.

She heard the door shut.

She knew she would not see him again for a while.


	2. September

**_September_ **

She couldn’t breathe. She stared at the TV and saw the pages from Mike’s diary splattered across on the screen on CNN and in that moment, she knew they were all fucked. Her phone began to blow up less than a minute later. First she saw Selina’s name on the screen and she hit ignore. Then she saw Gary’s. Ignored again. Then Mike’s. Ignored (times infinity).

She pressed the power button on the TV and stared out the window of her apartment. It was a late night in early September, the time of year in DC where the oppressive humidity lessened, but the heat still made you pool into a pile of sweat despite the sun setting earlier. The buzzing on her phone continued. She grabbed it and was tempted to throw it against the wall but instead just turned it off.

She grabbed her purse and walked out of her apartment.

*

She was not sure why she ended up at Dan’s, but somehow found herself outside his building. He had left New York in the past few weeks after exiting CBS, but she had not seen him since that night two months ago. They occasionally texted (his sometimes on the borderline of sexual when it was late enough), but she had not physically spoken to him since he had left her apartment that morning. There was a light flickering from the window of his apartment on the second floor so she went up and buzzed his apartment.

He didn’t answer, and she panicked for a moment that he was fucking another woman and she was going to look like an idiot, but she could not stop buzzing his apartment. Finally, she heard a crackling voice come through the intercom shouting, “Who the fuck is this?”

“Amy.”

The door immediately opened and she walked inside up to the second floor where his apartment door was already open as he handed her a bottle of whiskey. She quickly took a swig and walked in.

For everything awful about Dan, one of his best qualities was not forcing Amy to talk about her feelings. She plopped on his couch and he sat beside her, putting the bottle of whiskey on coffee table. Somehow Wedding Crashers appeared on the screen, and even though she had never let him live down his love for Owen Wilson, she was grateful he did not turn on CNN.

About a quarter of the way through the movie, she felt him staring at her and then felt his thumb swipe away a tear on her cheek. She took a deep breath, she had not even realized that she had started crying, but also did not want to talk about it. She finally brought her eyes to meet his, and he knew. That was the thing about Dan, even though he was horrible, he just understood her like no one else ever had—not a friend, lover or even her own family.

He cupped her face and kissed her, and it was soft, almost too soft because she felt exposed, so she fought back and then he was on top of her. She lost her leggings and sweater, he lost his jeans and t-shirt. His lips trailed everywhere, his fingers danced along her skin, her nails scraped along his back. He pushed, she pulled. She forgot for a moment and opened her eyes as she clenched around him and threw her head back. He collapsed on top of her. The weight felt comforting. His lips skimmed her collarbone. Her fingertips gently ran across his scalp.

“Let’s cook something.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “Are you high?” He lifted his head off of her chest with a grin.

“No, I just want food and I am a better cook than you, so I’m going to teach you basic skills of how to not order take-out every night.”

She continued to genuinely smile and he lifted himself off of her, throwing her his t-shirt and her underwear. He grabbed his boxers and meandered over to the refrigerator. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. She did not know why but she found herself craving his closeness. It made her forget. He pulled out some chicken and vegetables.

“You get to chop.” He handed her carrots and broccoli. They cut everything next to each other in a comfortable silence (occasionally he would play footsy with her, eliciting a small smile). When they finally had all of the ingredients in the pan, he pulled her close, forcing her to stir the food while he also distracted her by kissing her neck. It all felt very domestic, she did not hate it.

“I didn’t know all you ever really wanted was a little woman to cook your dinner every night,” she teased. She felt him bite on her neck in retaliation, she moaned softly while she continued stirring. He grew hard against her, whispering softly, “You will pay for that later.”

They sat at his island. They ate. They did not talk about Mike, or the diary, or how they were fucked. Instead, he told her about New York. He told her about Jane and Brie and how he did not like television because there was no power or importance. She told him about all the idiot campaign managers she was dealing with for the mid-term elections. He wiped an eyelash off of her cheek while she grumbled about how no one understood the value of working past 7pm in Nebraska. He laughed. They dumped their dishes in the sink and he pressed her against the island.

“As much as I liked our encounter in your kitchen a few months ago, I’m still hungry,” he whispered against her mouth as he pressed his fingers roughly inside her underwear.

He pulled her into his bedroom and continued to make her forget. He was soft and hard, fierce and gentle, everything she hated and everything she loved. When they came together each time, she felt exposed and alive. She wished each time she didn’t have to love him, but she did.

Afterwards, she fell into a languid pile on his bed. Her eyes closed and she felt his fingertips linger against her back before she fell asleep.

*

She woke up startled to the sound of a phone ringing. She began to feel around for hers, but remembered that she had shut it off the night before. It was still dark out, and she poked Dan because it had to be his phone. She heard him grumble but pick up the phone. His arm pulled her into his body while he spoke quietly. She was still half-asleep but she could tell from the muffled sounds it was Ben. He hung up and she felt him staring at her.

“We’re not screwed,” he said.

She fluttered her eyes upwards and could make out his face in the moonlight. He looked more relieved than he had the night before. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“The diary revealed Tibet. It is going to break in an hour. I have to get Selina on with Jane tomorrow morning.”

She nodded her head and reality hit her brain, this was all fake and she was playing house for a few hours. His grip did not loosen as she tried to back away. “Don’t do that,” he said.

“Dan, I can’t, I mean, this isn’t…” she trailed off but refused to meet his eyes. “I know what you want, and, well, I don’t want that. I can’t just be the girl you fuck every few months because you’re bored with everyone else.”

“I didn’t ask you to be.” He rolled her over, and god, she fucking hated him. Because his hands were trailing down her sides, her insides turned about in the best and worst way possible, and her heart felt like it was about to burst when he kissed her again. She pulled his head closer, his body closer, everything closer, she could not be close enough.

He made her shutter and when she reached her climax, she felt him pierce through her and she hated how he imprinted himself on her body and in her mind.

The morning was a repeat from two months prior except he cooked her eggs this time. She figured out how to work his fancy coffee pot and he grazed her thigh while they both emailed on their phones. She got up and kissed his cheek this time right before she left.

They did not make any promises to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you for all the kind words and positive feedback. You inspired me to keep writing. I think there may be one more part on the horizon to tie this little story together.


	3. November

**_Late November_ **

She was not surprised to hear the knocking on the door. She sighed and opened it to see Dan staring at her in a t-shirt and jeans. She looked him in the eye, “What?”

“Are we going to talk about this?”

“No.” He pushed passed her into the hotel room and she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. “Dan, I’m really…”

“Amy, you drop that you’re pregnant on me right before we walk into a big dinner and then give me the silent treatment the rest of the night. We’re going to talk.”

She shut the door and continued to stand as he sat on the edge of the bed. He kept pulling on his hair and she leaned against the bureau across from the bed. “How long have you known?” he asked.

“About three weeks. My period was late and I didn’t think much of it because of the stress while working on the midterm campaigns, but I decided to take a test. So, here we are now.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“No. I still wasn’t… I’m still not sure…” she trailed off.

“Then why did you tell me?”

She shrugged her shoulders and sat next to him on the bed, but looked out the window. “You know, after she lost, I… well when I was in Nevada, I sort of began to not hate the idea of a tiny human. But then…” she turned toward him, “I don’t know. This might be my only chance.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“It was that night in October, wasn’t it?” he asked.

*

_Seven Weeks Earlier_

He texted her to meet him, Ben, and Kent at an old man bar two weeks after she left his apartment. She did not expect to hear from him so soon, but was starting to believe that they all may not be completely fucked. Although she was only consulting for the DNC, she still used their offices to conduct video calls with different campaigns several times a month. She knew that they had chances of winning a campaign in Ohio and one in South Dakota but the rest were hopeless no matter what she did. Her only intention with the other campaigns was to make the candidate not lose miserably.

Around 8pm, she shut off her laptop and went into the bathroom to freshen up. She did not know why, there was no one to impress. Ben and Kent were more like her father and uncle, and Dan, well, he had seen her in nothing but a t-shirt and panties with tussled hair and no make-up, and still wanted to fuck her. Even so, the old man bar was where the old time “DCer’s” hung out and she never knew who she was going to run into.

She arrived fashionably late (she had an excuse of course, she worked late) but she did revel in the way Dan’s eyes raked over the tight black sheath dress she was wearing.

She ended up sitting next to Dan (she did not think it was by happenstance) as the three of them eagerly told her about the consulting firm they were going to start. He stroked her thigh steadily under the table, but she did not meet his eyes. She wanted to make him work for it. She wanted to have the power.

“Ames, we’re gonna need your help.” Ben said.

“Who are you taking on?” she asked. They all looked at each other and she sighed heavily, knowing the answer. “Why?”

“Because she can win this time.” Ben said.

Amy took another sip of her whiskey, “She won’t want me on the team.”

“She needs you on the team, it’s the only way we’ll have optimal numbers,” Kent said.

They continued to chat for another hour, leaving the conversation about Selina and her potential campaign (again) on hold. Ben and Kent eventually bid them adieu, and Amy and Dan moved to a smaller high top where he continued to touch her, whisper in her ear, make her laugh, make her heart swell. She wondered if this was real or if they were both just incapable of connecting with other humans so it was just inevitable, not the right thing.

He threw money down on the table (after she had polished off another whiskey) and took her hand, leading her back to his apartment.

And she let him consume her all night. He was softer than normal—she did not mind. He drank in her body, teased her, made her shiver, made her feel all of the things she never allowed herself to feel. She let him look at her, really look at her, and felt exposed. Every moment he touched her, she felt like her soul renewed again. He softly ran a finger down her side as her eyes closed. His arm eventually fell over her body, pulling her close.

Neither of them hated it.

*

**_November_ **

“Yes,” she said.

He nodded his head, still processing the information. After another few moments of silence, he finally said, “Well, an unwed and pregnant campaign strategist will not play well for Selina.”

“Thanks asshole, I hadn’t thought of that,” she said sarcastically.

“So, the only solution is for us to get married.”

She looked at him shocked. He smirked and she hit him in his chest, “Shut the fuck up, are you high? We are not fucking getting married.”

“Who else is going to marry you?” he asked.

“ **ME**?” she asked incredulously, “Dan, we’re not even dating! And who the fuck wants to marry **you**?”

He chuckled at her and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, “You do.”

“No, I don’t,” she said a little less emphatically.

He tilted her head towards her, “Ames, you know I love you, and I hate everyone. And I know you love me, and you hate everyone. And now we have some great political leverage with that tiny alien thing inside of you, and everyone loves a stupid romance story, so, we’re going to take full advantage of that because we know that anyone in DC only uses babies for political advantage.”

She sighed heavily, “I don’t want a big wedding. I don’t even want a wedding.”

“We don’t have to have a wedding. We can elope somewhere and not tell a fucking soul until I release a ‘sweet’ and perfectly crafted Instagram post.”

“Ok, fine. We’ll have the alien baby, and I’ll fucking marry you, but I’m not happy about it,” she said with a tiny smile emerging on her face.

“Sounds fair,” he murmured, pulling her close and kissing her, “Now, are we going to win the fucking election this time? Because otherwise, getting you pregnant for political gain will have been moot.”

Eventually, they laid in the bed. They did not talk about baby names or school districts or where she would give birth. They did not talk about wedding venues or floral arrangements or who to keep off the guest list. Instead, Dan played with her fingers while she rambled about all the donors they had to schmooze at the breakfast the next morning. He smirked when she talked about running over Jonah with a tractor. She laughed when he told her that he was pretty sure Richard was sweet on Jonah.

It was not the idealistic notion of love but it was everything she had ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the kind words and embracing this little story! I hope you enjoyed it :)


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